Recovery
by magicsupernova
Summary: Stiles took off after his dad died, trying to handle life on his own. Scott has been trying to track him down, but will he find him before it is too late? Stiles has been trying to ignore the voice in his head, Erebus, for some time, but perhaps too long - he's more dangerous than he could imagine. Also please have faith I will update I'm just busy with exams at the minute!
1. Chapter 1

An icy breeze blew whatever warmth I had left away into the valley where I was sat. Well, I say_ in_ the valley, really I was perched at the top of one, peering over the edge, hunched in a tight ball with my knees practically touching my shoulders; I felt like a cold box. This is where I go. It's peaceful here, much better than ho-. No. I can't call it a home, not really. It's nothing like a home. You wouldn't consider it "homely" at all. Dad died last year. It was a year ago but I remember it as if was yesterday (cliché but painfully accurate saying). It had been at the school, we were having a meal before we left to go our own ways; all 18 years old back then. Anyone else who survived that night will be 19 like me. I brushed back my hair with my fingers, clenching tight onto reality.

I know I can talk about it…

_You remember what happened_ _don't you Stiles? _

"Go away."

_Oh, we both know I don't go away, don't we Stiles? STILES!… _

_Don't ignore me, we know what happens wh-_

I shook the voice out of my head. It was just in my head. It's normal, I tell myself. It has to be normal… I lost my trail of thought…Oh. Dad.

He had come to warn me. Us two, we're not exactly strangers to the supernatural (putting it lightly). We have fought demons, gone against were-wolves, and as far as we knew there could've be thousands more things waiting for us, and we were right. There were. And we weren't prepared; long story short it was my fault. Everything is always my fault, and everyone around me gets hurt and I can't stand it.

Rolling onto my back I sprung to my feet half-heartedly.. When I'm alone, I don't mind admitting to myself there are actually some things I understand, and logic is one of them. My parents were geniuses. They taught me so many different things. At 19, I realise now I never had a normal childhood. Children are supposed to break your hearts, and laugh till they have to run to the bathroom. Not ever having that, it was just me and Scott learning how to become theoretical assassins in our back yard. I haven't seen Scott in weeks…

He isn't my biological brother, but he feels like one. He was my best friend…is my best friend. He first spoke to me in kindergarten. Well, he didn't technically speak to me, but he generously offered me his juice box when I sat on mine and it exploded over a poor girl on my right. We got on straight away after that, constantly joking around, and I invited him round a lot to keep me company. He was like an opposite of me; lived with his mother, a joker, lovable. And me; lived with Dad, an introverted sarcastic boy, certainly not lovable. If I'm honest, learning these things with Scott made everything more bearable, and it made me accept it more than before. My mother died when I was about 7 from schizophrenia.

It was strange, I remember her. Some days she would go without speaking for hours on end, and scream herself hoarse at 3 in the morning. She would hear things none of us could hear, answer the phone when it wasn't ringing and open the door to nobody. I never really understood her, but standing at the foot of an empty hospital bed being told the bad news really affected me in a bad way. For weeks I wouldn't talk properly to anyone, not Scott or Dad. I would ask Dad to pass the salt, and walk home with Scott in silence, but I didn't communicate in such a way that they would be satisfied. I could tell Scott was sympathetic but wasn't sure how to deal with me. Hell, no 7 year old kid should know how to deal with anyone like that, or go through with it. I got over it eventually, even though it hurt, I didn't connect with her when she was alive, because one part of me was afraid of her, and the other part was scared she didn't love me.

_She didn't, you know._

I closed my eyes, trying not to listen, but it was too late, I'd let him in. Erebus – that's what he called himself. I try not to listen to him, but he's powerful in my head. He makes me do things I don't want to just by the sound of his voice, and even now it's difficult to block him out.

_Erebus, yes. You don't want to block me out, do you Stiles? 'Cause that would hurt my feelings…_

He paused, over-dramatically, before pretending to cry and then he disappeared, his cruel laugh still ringing in my head. I can't stand it. Dad never knew about Erebus, I was afraid to tell him in case he called me crazy or sent me to a hospital like Mom. Dad's death is on me, because of Erebus.

It was our leaving meal ceremony night at the school, and everyone was dressed up all fancy, girls in long gowns and cute dresses, boys in tuxes and suits. Everyone went with dates, or just with friends, and it was great until about a couple of hours into the night. We had eaten, and we danced. I danced with Lydia. She was gorgeous. I had a thing for her all of the last year at school, and she agreed to dance with _me._ Silly, shy _me._ She was wearing a deep purple dress, sleeveless, which swirled at her ankles. Even though she was in heels, she didn't quite reach my height, I remember us joking about it playfully. Dad had run into the hall covered in blood, his eyes frantic, searching for me. Of course lots of gasps and a few screams had echoed around the hall, and I had left Lydia to sprint over to him. He told me under his breath that we were in danger, it was a wolf pack. The same one we had been worried about for weeks, and it had found us, targeted us, Scott especially. We managed to get everyone out through the small passage from the hall under the stage to the gym on the other side of the school, where people, confused, arranged people to collect them.

I was about halfway through the passage when I noticed Dad wasn't behind me. Gasping for breath after running back, all I could see was the darkness of the Hall which just an hour ago had been lit with candles and chandeliers. The school was quite wealthy and so most rooms were as eccentric and impressive as the Hall. It was one of the places I did appreciate, despite my age.

Dad had been cornered by two wolves on the left side of the Hall, and I would have run to help… without question. If it wasn't for E-

_Me?_

"Yes." I replied.

_I did you a favour you know… it's better off just you and me. He slowed us down… he deserved it. _

I bit down on my lip so hard it bled, just to stop myself screaming at Erebus. He had told me an outright lie, and shamefully, I believed him. He'd said it was Dad's plan, and he could handle a couple of rogue wolves. Then he'd said Lydia was about to be shredded by wolves who had gathered at the south end of the passage. I'd believed him, yelling to Dad I'd be right back, but I knew something was wrong as soon as I stepped foot back in the passage. I kept running, running away from my father who was certainly not handling the pair of wolves, who ripped him apart. When I got there and saw Lydia stood in the arms of another boy, who was comforting her; then I knew Erebus had cost me my father's life. By the time I got back to the Hall, the wolves were gone and Dad was lying on the floor. I had collapsed next to him, screaming at him to wake up, and to tell me it was okay, but his vacant eyes stayed staring at the once-glistening chandeliers, which were shattered and lay in pieces around his body. I had cried myself to sleep on his chest, before Scott found me and called 911.

I stayed that night at Scott's, his mother trying to feed me and bring me drinks. My phone had been going crazy asking what the hell happened, some condolences and one from Lydia. That one I had read, but it was very brief. **I'm so sorry, Stiles. **

I don't know whether it was the sincerity of it, or the genuine feel to it, but I knew that was the one I fell asleep to, reading it over and over again. I left Scott's house in the early hours of the morning, wanting to avoid any more conversations with the police about the accident. I shouldn't even call it that, it was murder. And it was my fault.

I've been living alone for a long time now. I took off pretty quickly, working at small shops for a few months before quitting, so I kept moving but could afford to occasionally stay at motels or grab something to eat without stealing. Scott, who is now a werewolf, had been tracking me, but it was easy to put him off with false leads if you know him like I do.

The sun was starting to set now, and the grass rippled silently next to my shoes, the breeze biting into my skin through my hoody, which wasn't doing me much good; I was freezing. I stood up, and nearly fell over at the pain of the joints in my knees cracking. My face was gaunt, and my lips chapped and pale. I must have been sat there for hours without realising. Recalling my whole life story to the countryside had exhausted me, and I knew I had to find somewhere to sleep before it got too dark to see. My bag lay beside me. Shaking, I unzipped the side pocket and grabbed the hand torch, flicking it on. I put it on the grass beside me, and opened another section of my bag. It was pretty empty except for a few things – my old flip-phone (which I clicked on for the first time in days), my spare t-shirt, a length of rope, my pocket knife, a packet of dried fruit, a few notes and my journal. I was sat on my sleeping bag. Rolling it up and stuffing it in my bag, I set off down the steep valley with the bag swinging on my back behind me.

My foot caught on an unlevelled piece of mud and the moment after that I was tumbling down the steep valley, the bag flew off my shoulder and the torch shot straight out of my hand. The grass was slippery, and I couldn't get a grip good enough to stop me falling, and that's when I hit the electric fence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Scott**

**Okay quick change of person, sorry, would prefer this story in 3****rd**

Stiles had been sat on that hill for ages, and hadn't moved for a while. Scott desperately wanted to go and talk to him and give him his hoody or something; he could hear him shivering from where he was sat. He knew Stiles thought he was following all his false leads, but he couldn't let his best friend just wander by himself. Derek had been checking up on them both to try and see where they were and what was happening, and had been tracking the location of Stiles' phone when Scott told him it was turned on. He could almost feel Stiles' pain, but didn't want to disturb him. He felt a bit uneasy watching him start walking into the valley, and when he went out of sight he started to move so he could make sure he was safe. He ran the perimeter around the valley in wolf form – it was faster. When Scott reached the other side, he still couldn't see Stiles, and the unease grew into panic. Surely he should still be in sight; it had only taken Scott a few seconds to move. He jogged down the hill, still not seeing Stiles. There was a fence which he could hear was buzzing with electricity, some pile of clothes or something underneath that, and that was it. It took several seconds for him to realise the small pile of clothes was Stiles, crumpled and wrapped around the fence.

Immediately Scott sprinted towards his best friend, his hear pounding through his skin. He shocked himself several times before managing to untangle Stiles from the fence, who was now lying unconscious in his arms, his head lolling back over Scott's arm.

"Stiles?!"

He wasn't breathing.

"Stiles! Come on man, wake up… Stiles!" Scott shouted, his voice cracking slightly. Desperately he shook him, and began pressing down on his chest, whilst removing his pain at the same time. The black stormed through his veins, the pain burning as it entered his body. He could feel a pulse returning to Stiles' broken body, and collapsed onto his knees, exhausted. Stiles' eyes flickered open, tears leaking out, his hands were trembling so much he had to dig his nails into the ground to get them to stop. Scott sighed in relief, embracing his friend tightly, his arms supporting him. He could feel most of the bones in his body, and it felt like he was holding a bag of bones rather than a person.

"Scott? Wh-what are you d-doing here?" he whispered, clenching his fist and staring at his now almost transparent knuckles about to burst out of his skin. "Scott no-no you're…-but you were…Scott you weren't meant- you weren't meant to be h-here,"

He grabbed Scott by the front of his hoody, shaking violently, "why did you save me?"

Scott had never seen him like this, not even when Sherriff Stilinski had died. Sure he had been broken up but any kid would be. God, he knew he should have come sooner, he could see the poor kid breaking in front of his eyes.

"Hey? Stiles. Listen okay? I'm gonna get you outta here, take you to the hospital, where you-"

"NO-no please don't-Scott! Scott please don't-" he abruptly stopped, tears now streaming down his pale face, his hand clutching at his own chest, his eyes straining in the darkness.

Shit. This had to be a panic attack right? Scott had dealt with them before, but never one this sudden or serious. He freaked for about 2 seconds, before realising he needed to help. Stiles was gasping for breath, completely dysfunctional as he closed his eyes and tried helplessly to focus on his breathing, just like he'd always done when he was alone. It wasn't working; all he could feel was his chest about to explode and the fear flooding throughout his body, making him go rigid and fragile. It started to go black at the edges of his vision, and all he could see was blurry colours welding together to form…Scott? Yes…Scott. It must be a dream. A nightmare. He can't be real. None of it was ever real. He half expected to turn and see his Dad behind him, and tried to crane over Scott's shoulder to get a glimpse, but there were several loud bangs and he returned his focus back to Scott.

"C'mon Stiles… you're not listening to me! Stiles it's me! Stop, fighting, me!" Scott gasped between breaths, struggling to hold the kid down as he thrashed about wildly.  
"Dad…?" He kept whispering, over and over, then shaking his head violently and pounding his fists on Scott's chest, the floor, and his own body. Scott had a difficult time trying to stop him inflicting pain on himself, and he finally seemed to get through to him when he noticed Stiles' eyes focusing on his.  
"Stiles? Hey, you're alright, okay?" he reassured softly, loosening his grip on his arms when he felt the muscles relax.

Stiles looked up at his best friend, the strange feeling starting to fade, and felt so weak and tired. He realised he was freezing. Trying not to shiver as much, he sat up and smiled weakly, aware he wasn't kidding anyone that he was alright. "I-…" he tried to assure Scott he was fine, and to just leave him, but the words wouldn't form, and in seconds he was sobbing on his shoulder.  
"Dude you're freezing. Here," Scott said, whilst taking off his hoody and stuffing it over Stiles' head.  
"You're in a t-shirt now," Stiles began, about to resist, but he knew it was a wasted effort as he was too weak to lift up his arms to give it back. Slightly warmer, he soon passed out, exhausted, and Scott could do nothing except grab his worryingly light bag, secure it around his shoulder and carry his best friend to his house. He wasn't sure whether taking him to his Mom was a good idea yet, she'd probably have a heart attack when she saw the state of him. It was strange, she had been one of the most concerned for Stiles when he took off in the first place, insisting Scott kept an eye on him, and allowing him to skip classes so he could make sure he didn't do anything reckless. He knew she was on the night shift tonight and so wouldn't be back until the early morning, so he was safe to try and settle Stiles into the house.

He lay him down on the couch, scratching his head with his grubby fingers and staring miserably at his best friend. He barely recognised him. His face was framed violently by his imposing cheek bones, casting dark shadows under his eyes and on his cheeks. His face was illuminated by the lamp in the corner, revealing scratches and scars littered over his face from who-knows-where. His thin body looked deflated in Scott's hoody, it looked at least 2 sizes too big for him. Scott glanced down at his hand which was just brushing the carpet, and noticed huge red bruises around his knuckles and hands, which must have been from his fit earlier. He sighed sadly, examining the kid he had missed for a year. It was odd thinking about it really, and he knew how much he relied on Stiles; he always had some plan to get him out of trouble, or to save his life. His research had saved his skin countless times. Being at school and seeing an unfamiliar face to the left of him felt strange. It all felt strange when he wasn't there. Even Lydia had seemed down for the past few months.

At first it was like she had been trying to pretend they were never friends anyway, and she would be in the coach's office with a boy, or in the library pretending everyone didn't exist, and it had been difficult for her. She had always had a weird sort of thing for Stiles. Not a crush of sorts, but a feeling of intrigue that she just couldn't figure out yet. He had told her how much he adored her, but had never mentioned her looks, or her figure, or her clothes. He seemed to tell her about her little quirks that she barely realised she did herself, and the tiny details that would have meant nothing to her if he hadn't pointed it out. Really, he just fascinated her, and when it came down to it, she just felt like the normal naïve school girl she always had done.

Blearily, Stiles opened his eyes to the sound of a loud beeping. He jumped, slipping off the couch clumsily. Luckily, it was like he had been cocooned in blankets before going to sleep, and so the landing was surprisingly okay. He almost giggled, at what that must have looked like, and struggled to squeeze out of the quilts, so in the end he rolled his way out until it was loose enough to wriggle out. He stared at his hands, and realised they were covered in bandages. Examining them closely, he saw it was not Scott's work. It almost looked professional… His thoughts trailed off as he looked up to see Melissa stood in the doorway in her dressing gown, smiling at him. He didn't hesitate to hug her tightly, inhaling her familiar flowery smell and just holding onto something real, which had been absent for months. He didn't want to let go, until he heard a small cough from Melissa and he freed his hands, grinning apologetically at her. "Sorry, it's just… you know." He said, shrugging at the floor. She gave him a look that made him realise he said the wrong thing, even though she was smiling at him. "Stiles, don't apologise, I'm just glad you're back. Believe it or not I was worried about you!" He grinned, and she sidestepped past him into the kitchen and began taking out pans of sorts. "You're going to have a proper breakfast; God only knows when the last time that was!"

Ah, Stiles thought to himself, this is the bit where I should probably just stay out of the way. Knowing he would only get kicked out if he tried, he walked around the breakfast bar and sat down and watched Melissa make eggs peacefully, not needing to say a word. He felt at ease, and better than he had done in weeks. Probably the best he'd felt since his Dad died. It still hurt to admit it, and it still hadn't really sunk in, but as Melissa plonked a plate full of bacon and eggs in front of him, he soon put the thought aside and focused on his breakfast.

She stayed until he'd eaten every last morsel, checked he didn't want anything else making (to which he assured her several times that he did not) and then disappeared into her bedroom to get ready for yet another long shift at the hospital. Apparently there was a massive storm last night and so there were several people coming in from car crashes off the road, so she'd been called in for the whole day at about 7 this morning. It was about quarter to now, and it hit Stiles that he wasn't too exhausted. He grabbed a towel from the airing cupboard and hit the shower, knowing Scott would be up soon before he went to school. Ugh, school. He had strict orders from Melissa to spend today resting, eating and relaxing, and definitely not going to school. He didn't want to stress her out any more so he'd resigned, agreeing to her terms. Besides, he had been outside for what seemed like forever; maybe being inside would be a good thing for him.

The water felt amazing, and he scrubbed his whole body, watching the slightly colour tainted water flood down the drain. He felt like he was washing the bad omens from him and just drowning them in the steam. Of course, he had the shower on a crazy-high heat, simply because it made him feel real, and alive, and to make up for all the lost showers from the past year. He hadn't really had many; food had been the priority, or a place to stay.

He stood in the bathroom mirror, staring down at his body. His ribs were poking out of his chest, and he could count each one easily. There were scratches from various fights, and from trees that he'd run past when running away from someone, or from bushes he'd run through all over his arms, legs and chest. He felt like a canvas that had been splattered with paint, black-blue and red.

Drying himself off, he looked down at his clothes on the floor from where he had stripped off; his oldest jeans, worn down and full of holes, his dirty t-shirt with marks all down it, his hoody, and Scott's hoody. None were really acceptable to wear as most were still soaking from the rain last night. He raided the cupboard for any clothes, but there wasn't any. So, still in his towel, he approached Scott's door. It felt weird, as they hadn't really talked in ages. He froze as he heard movement, and a thud, followed by a groan of pain. He had to cover his mouth with his hand to stifle the laughter, and the door swung open to reveal Scott; sleepily rubbing his shoulder with a pained expression on his face. Scott wasn't really looking up, and saw a pair of feet in front of him. He stared, confused, and saw there were legs attached to them, and then realised Stiles was stood shivering in a towel right in front of him.  
"Wh- Stiles! How are you feeling?" He asked, his eyes straining in the light from the hallway. "And why are you in a towel?"

"That's kinda why I'm here... Can I borrow some clothes?" He asked, sheepishly, opening his mouth to explain but was stopped by Scott grinning at him. "What?"  
"Nothing, just glad to see you're better that's all. And sure thing, just grab anything you want out the wardrobe 'kay? I'll be in the shower, will be done in ten. Don't go anywhere!" he called, stumbling into the bathroom rubbing his eyes.

It turns out that Scott barely had any clothes himself, unless you count a few t-shirts, jogging-bottoms and jeans. But, they were clean, even if a little big, and were better than Stiles' needed. Slipping into a plain grey shirt and some jeans, he realised just how thin he had gotten. The jeans were way too big, and wouldn't stay up unless he held them in place. The search for a belt was a struggle, and Stiles started to panic when he realised Scott would be getting out the shower soon and might notice how badly they fit, and take him to the hospital or something. Luckily, before the panic worsened, he found one under the bed at the back, and the anxiety trickled down his stomach slowly, rather than bursting in his chest.

He felt pretty useless, unsure of what to do, and sat down on the coach. He noticed his bag had been placed next to the arm, and so naturally he opened it up and checked his phone. Surprisingly, there was still charge, and so he tapped in the password and was equally surprised to see he had messages.

The first one he read was from Lydia, it just asked of his whereabouts and that if he was okay. He smiled softly, re-reading her words, before trying to send a relatively chilled out text explaining he was fine, and was at Scott's. The next was from Scott. Well, there were more than one, about 12 to be exact. Most of them were the general "**Where are you?" **and **"Please reply, I'm worried."** But one caught his attention. He was saying how scared he was, and that he needed his help, but a lot of the message was jumbled up and it didn't make a lot of sense, so he left it. Allison had sent a few texts too, asking if he was okay, and whether Scott had found him or not. There were a few others from Danny and other people but none were too important so he just shut his phone down and closed his eyes, calmly staring into nothing.

It was about quarter to 8 now, and he just didn't know what to do with himself, so he made a coffee and lay on his back trying to make sense of yesterday.

_Have a good day, Stiles. _

No. You aren't real, he thought to himself. There was silence in his head though, and he began to wonder whether he had simply imagined it, or dreamt the voice.

"Morning!" a voice called from behind the breakfast bar, and Scott popped his head up, clutching a bowl of cornflakes and a mug of coffee. He plonked himself at the table, facing Stiles and looking at him expectantly. "So… how are you feeling?" he asked, taking a big sip of coffee and glancing at him.

Stiles swallowed, trying to forget about Erebus and focusing on the sound of Scott's spoon tapping repetitively against the bowl. "Yeah, erm, yeah I'm…"  
"Don't you dare say fine," Scott waved his spoon menacingly at him, his face joking but his eyes full of concern.  
"Well in that case, I'm better," Stiles muttered, now turning his attention to his shoelace and knotting it, undoing it, re-knotting it. He found a rhythm and therapeutically continued until he felt a strong hand on his arm and he looked up. Scott was worried; he had seen that look before.  
"Well if it makes you feel any better, I have permission from Mrs McCall to take the day off school to keep an eye on you. So I guess you're stuck with me!" He smiled, switching the TV onto some crappy cartoons and throwing some blankets at Stiles, demanding him to try and sleep some more before lunch. Stiles obliged, not really putting up a fight, because in reality he was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and he felt safer knowing Scott was right there. He felt safer than he had in a long time.

* * *

Hey thanks for reading everyone and please review or let me know what you think - I love any feedback and it would be great to hear from you! I'm about to start exams so don't expect the next chapter to be out for a bit, but please don't give up hope on me just yet, I don't intend to leave this story abandoned! ~ Thanks


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